


Pipes, Drums, and Irritating Neighbors

by Amateum



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bagpiper!Steve, Basically them before the war, Drummer!Bucky, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Passive Aggresiveness, Pre-Slash, Pre-Winter soldier!Bucky, Sarcasm, Sarcastic little shit!Steve, Steve Rogers is a little shit, The rating's just for minor language, lots of fluff, pre-serum!Steve, really it's gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 22:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8119561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amateum/pseuds/Amateum
Summary: Steve’s eyes snapped open and he let out a groan after looking at the clock.Steve has medical conditions. medical conditions that are somewhat relieved when he gets a full night of sleep. But Steve also enjoys 5 AM walks around the park. Between his need for sleep and love for early mornings, he needed a full 9 hours of rest starting at exactly 8PM and his damn upstairs neighbor won’t. stop. playing. the drums.Or:"My annoying upstairs neighbor is playing the drums late at night so I'll passive-aggressively play the bagpipes back" AU.





	

**bum bum bum badum tisk badum tisk**

Steve’s eyes snapped open and he let out a groan after looking at the clock. 9:31 PM. While this may not be late for most people, Steve…Well…Steve has medical conditions. medical conditions that are somewhat relieved when he gets a full night of sleep. But Steve also enjoys 5 AM walks around the park. Between his need for sleep and love for early mornings, he needed a full 9 hours of rest starting at exactly 8PM and his damn upstairs neighbor _won’t stop playing the drums._

Letting out an annoyed huff, Steve threw back the bedsheets. No more. This was the third night in a row this had happened and enough was enough. He wasn’t going to take this lying down. Grumbling, he shuffled over to the storage closet and pulled open the door where a stack of precariously placed cardboard boxes threatened to fall on him when the door shifted.

 _I really do need to collapse these_ , he thought, scowling.

 The whole situation started like this: during the unpacking process, he’d been lazy and had thrown all the empty boxes into the closet, figuring he’d deal with it later in the day. Of course, when his friends Sam and Natasha had visited to help move the furniture and his new next door neighbor, Peggy, had shown up with a housewarming pie, that plan had gone straight out the window.  Now, however, he was seriously regretting his negligence.

 _You reap what you sow._ That grim thought echoed in his head while he dug through his closet, looking for one particular item that actually shouldn’t be that hard to find because it isn’t exactly tiny (like him) and— _Ah hah. There you are, beautiful._ Steve grabbed the handles and yanked it out from under the box tower, using his foot to swiftly slam the door shut. And not a moment too soon, because a second later there was the telltale crash of collapsing boxes. He winced

That…will be fun to open again. He made a mental note to deal with it later. Now back to the task at hand…

He unzipped the large black case and flipped back the lid. Steve had made sure to move this package personally. No way was some sweaty stranger touching his baby—even if she were in her case.

Carefully, Steve pulled the instrument out and attached the drones.  Between finding a new apartment, packing, and moving in, he hadn’t had a lot of time to play recently, but…his lips quirked. Now would be an excellent time to practice!

Strolling over to the window for his neighbor’s listening pleasure, Steve positioned the blowpipe, placed his hands on the chanter, and blew. _Hard **.**_

 

oooOOOooo

 

 “—and who the hell even plays bagpipes, anyway!” a masculine voice shouted.

Steve paused in the doorway to his apartment. He had just come back from his morning—now afternoon walk. At this point in time, he would have been back in his apartment, painting, but because of a certain _someone_ , he’d moved it to later in the day so he could sleep in. The voice he just heard had come from his next-door neighbor.

_But that apartment belongs to-_

The door opened and out stepped one of the most gorgeous men Steve had ever laid eyes on. The first thing he noticed were his hands. The fingers were long and twitching slightly, almost like they itched for something to grab.  But they looked rough and callused, and Steve couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel on-

his thoughts stuttered briefly as one of those hands reached up to tangle fingers up in the strands of short, brown hair. It was then that he was forced to properly take in the man in front of him.

The brunet was taller than him, but that wasn’t exactly a momentous feat as most people were taller than Steve. A perk of his medical conditions. The man was built with shapely biceps and an ass to die for, and the collar of his shirt was open just enough to expose a tantalizing stretch of skin. A long neck led up to the sight of a soft smile playing on the edge of his lips. He wasn’t even looking at Steve. He was staring at Peggy with something like fondness, which made something in Steve’s stomach twinge.

The man started to speak then and Steve hoped that this guy recorded audiobooks for a living because his voice was low and smooth, like a cello dipped in dark chocolate.

 “Well anyway, Peggy, it was lovely to chat, as always. See you later?”

“Of course, Bucky,” the elderly woman said, moving forward to hug him. Over Bucky’s shoulder, Peggy caught Steve staring dumbly at them. A devious grin spread across her face.

“Steve! Nice to see you again! Have you met Bucky? He lives right above you.”

 _Shit._ Any fantasies he might have had at that moment flushed right down the drain. At the introduction, the man –Bucky, and honestly, what the hell kind of name is Bucky? looked at him and…oh. Bright eyes stared amusedly at him. Of all the people in all the apartment buildings, _this_ perfect specimen of a human being had to be the asshole drummer.

 _Well, not so perfect after all,_ he thought, with an internal scowl. Outwardly, he put on a bland smile.

“No, I haven’t.” He held out a hand. _Be polite._ “Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.”

“James Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky,” he said taking the hand. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t help but to overhear…” and how could he not with that exquisite voice and face and- _Focus._ This guy is an asshole who deserves at least three nights of sucky sleep. “what was that about bagpipes?” he asked innocently.

_“Well—”_

Peggy sighed. “And I had just gotten him to quit yammering about it. You kids have fun, I’m too old for all this babbling.” With that, she stepped back into her apartment and shut the door. 

Steve chuckled. He’d only met Peggy a few days ago, but she was already his favorite neighbor.

“Would you like to continue this inside?” he nodded toward the still half open door to his apartment. Steve hoped he’d say yes. It might be a little strange to enter a person’s apartment right after meeting, even a neighbor’s, but he needed to sit down. For normal people, walking was a leisurely activity to get the blood pumping. For Steve, it was strenuous exercise that required frequent breaks.

“Sure,” Bucky smiled as he stepped through the doorway.

Steve mentally sagged in relief. Even thinking of standing around any longer made his muscles ache.

 “I was going to come over today anyway to check the place over,” Bucky continued. “I’m your landlord,” he clarified at Steve’s puzzled look.

“So that’s why no one’s complained about the drumming,” Steve muttered to the side.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Come sit,” he added quickly, to distract from his slip up, and directed Bucky to one of the two couches in the living room while he collapsed down on the other. Bucky looked around, taking in Steve’s home. The couches they sat on faced an old TV, which sat perched on top of a repurposed dresser. To the left was a kitchenette, and to the left of that stood a sliding glass door that opened into a small patio. On the right of the TV was a bathroom. Across from the bathroom lay Steve’s bedroom, which was unfortunately right underneath Bucky’s drum kit. 

 “So, bagpipes?” Steve prompted.

“Right. So there I was playing my drums without a care in the world, right? Then out of nowhere comes this Godawful noise that not only interrupts my rhythm, but completely blocks out the sound of the drums!”

Steve cackled internally. Operation: Piss Off the Neighbor was a success. “Really? How annoying for someone to interrupt your evening like that. I completely understand.”

 “It was! If I ever find that bagpiper I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind.”

 “Why? He has as much right to make noise as you do.”

“Sure, but not when I’m in the middle of my solo! Anyone would have the common courtesy to take turns. Or play less loudly, at least.”

“You’re right,” Steve deadpanned, “anyone with common courtesy would play quieter.”

“I’m glad we agree, Stevie. I’m just thanking my lucky stars that he didn’t play Scotland the Brave,” he said, flashing a thousand-watt smile. Steve pondered why it seemed to be a universal rule that all attractive men had to be assholes.

“Anyway,” Bucky said, standing up, “I’ve spent enough time gabbing. I do actually do things around here; no matter what Peggy may tell you.”

Steve gave a polite chuckle before standing up as well, muscles twinging in protest. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Barnes,” he said, ignoring his body as usual.

“Please, call me Bucky. All my friends do.” 

Steve smiled genuinely then. “Bucky then. I’ll see ya later.”

“See ya, Stevie,” he flashed another gorgeous smile then left the apartment.

Maybe he wasn’t such an asshole after all.

 

oooOOOooo

 

**Ba dum dum dum tisk da dum dum ba dum dum dum tisk da dum dum**

“What an asshole!”  Steve shouted into his pillow that night. He had thought that maybe last night would have taught Bucky—no, Mr. Barnes—a lesson. Instead, it only seemed to increase the duration and vigor of his landlord’s drum sessions. And it was _so loud_. Steve threw back his sheets for the second night in a row. Fine. Two could play at that game. Clearly, this guy needed another lesson in When Not to Play the Drums.

He pulled the bagpipe case out from underneath his bed where he’d put it last night, not wanting to brave opening the closet again, and put the instrument together. In the living room, Steve contemplated what song he could play to annoy Mr. Barnes the most. A Justin Bieber song? Call Me Maybe? It’s a Small World?  That one was sure to stay stuck in his head for the rest of the night, he mused. But then it finally hit him: Scotland the Brave. The most clichéd bagpipe song anyone could possibly play. He smiled deviously. And didn’t his new friend specifically mention it earlier? Well, he didn’t want to disappoint. Steve sucked in a lungful of air.

 

oooOOOooo

 

“That little punk, it’s like he knew I hated that song!”

Steve, wearing a splattered artist’s smock as he hovered in his open doorway, blinked in confusion. “Pardon?”

“The bagpiper! That asshat who keeps playing during my practice sessions!” Bucky brushed past Steve into the living room, the floor of which was covered in plastic, and flopped down onto a wrapped couch. “If this keeps going, I won’t be able to practice at all!”

 _If only,_ Steve thought. “Mr.Bar—uh, Bucky. As much as I’d love to hear you vent, I’m kind of busy at the moment.”

The landlord looked around, just now noticing the floor, couch, and most noticeably, the large canvas stretched across the ground. “What’cha workin’ on?”

 “Well, I _was_ unpacking some of my old paintings to put up around the apartment, but then I got inspired and decided to make a new one for the far wall.”

Bucky stood up and inspected it closer. There it was. That soft smile that he’d given Peggy before was now directed at his own art. His heart sped up and a few of the earlier fantasies drifted back into his mind.

Steve shifted, uncomfortable with this new development. “How about you go rant to Peggy?”

“Nah,” he waved off, still staring “she doesn’t want to hear my rambling,” Finally he looked back at Steve. “You said you had more?”

“Uh…yeah, I moved them into the kitchen for now—” the words had barely finished coming out of his mouth before Bucky made his way into the kitchen.

“Mr. Barnes, what are you—!”

“I said, call me Bucky,” he called back “Mr. Barnes sounds like I’m being called to the principal’s office.” He stepped back in to the living room holding a picture of the Statue of Liberty. “Hey, this is really good.”

“Oh uh…thanks.”

“Is this drawn from a picture?”

“Picture?” Steve scoffed, “More like memory. I grew up in New York.”

Bucky grinned. “Me too! Whereabouts?”

“Brooklyn.”

“Me too!”

 “Really? How have we never meet before?”

Bucky headed back into the kitchen while speaking “I don’t know, but I’m glad I found you now, Stevie!”

The artist rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh…yeah, yeah me too.” All this unrestrained affection was making Steve feel guilty for disliking the guy…and making it hard not to like him instead.

 “Wow, and you did these all by yourself?” Bucky continued on, seeming not to notice his compatriot’s lackluster response.

“Yeah,” he huffed out a small laugh, “all by myself. I didn’t even need mommy to clean up after me.” Sarcasm was good. He could always fall back on sarcasm.

Bucky turned around to roll his eyes at Steve. “Alright, smartass, I’ll remember not to compliment you next time.”

“Next time?” Steve quirked an eyebrow.

“Obviously.” He stood up and walked back toward Steve. "You’ll have to teach me how to paint.”

“Oh I will, will I? And what’s in it for me?” Steve smirked up at him playfully.

“…I make a mean apple pie,” Bucky said seriously.

Steve made a show of pondering this for a minute. “Put up the rest of those paintings for me,” he inclined his head, “and you got yourself a deal.”

“Great!” Bucky reached across the back of Steve’s shoulder and pressed him into a half-hug, their sides touching for the briefest moment before he let go and practically ran back into the kitchen. “Where are the nails?”

Steve answered absently. He was pretty sure he should be feeling irritated about his sleep-killing landlord worming his way into another visit, but he was actually…looking forward to it?  Steve mentally shrugged and decided to analyze it later… when Bucky wasn’t taking up as many of his mental processes.

“So the first order of business, while I hang these up, is to figure out which of my tenants plays that unholy instrument.”

The artist rolled his eyes and grabbed a brush to start painting again. “The bagpipes aren’t that bad, you know.”

“Hrv oo erd dem?”

“What?”

 Bucky spit out the nail in mouth. “Have you _heard_ them? It’s like a thousand dying walruses decided to howl their own funeral dirges at once.”

Steve glared at his painting. “Well maybe if you found a better time to play, the walruses would leave you alone.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Steve grumbled.

“It’s not like I’m playing in the middle of the night,” he picked up the fallen nail and positioned it on the wall. “More like seven, when everyone’s sitting on the couch, watching TV.”

“Eight, actually,” he muttered tersely.

“What was that?” Bucky turned to Steve.

“I think it’s closer to eight,” he repeated in a more polite tone.

“How would you know?”

“I’m right below you, remember? I can hear.”

“Right, I forgot.” He turned back around. “But anyway, no one goes to bed at eight anymore, at least not in this complex. I would know,” Bucky added, before hammering in the nail.

The sound of banging filled the room, reminding Steve of the his past few sleepless nights. He flicked an angry red stripe through the middle of the canvas.

“ _I_ used to go to bed at eight,” Steve grumbled quietly through the noise.

“Really? What made you stop?” Not quietly enough, then.

Steve’s paintbrush jerked to a halt. He’d said too much. “…Just…needed a change of pace.”

“Wait a second,” he lowered the hammer and turned around slowly “…are _you_ the bagpiper?”

Steve straightened up “What? No!” he protested, turning to Bucky.

“No, hang on. That would make sense. He only started playing after you showed up.”

“That’s a coincidence!”

“Oh yeah? Well then you wouldn’t mind if I searched your apartment for a bagpipe.”

 “What?! No! I mean—yes, I would mind!”

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“Look, you can’t just barge into my house and look through my things—wait, where are you going?”

“In your room to look through your things.”

“Y-you can’t do that!” He grabbed hold of Bucky’s arm, attempting to keep him away from his room where his bagpipe sat under his bed, waiting to be exposed. However, Bucky had a solid 100 pounds on Steve, so he mostly ended up being dragged behind.

“This is unconstitutional!”

“Your guilt is unconstitutional!”

“Not true. Innocent until proven guilty, remember?” Bucky paused long enough to see Steve’s cheeky smile and subsequently roll his eyes. 

 “Yeah, and under the Sixth Amendment, all have the right to a ‘Speedy and Public Trial,’ but see how well that’s worked out,” he retorted. “Now are you going to let me check your room or what?”

 _Shit this was bad. Shit shit shit shit._ “Uhh…well…” Steve cast his eyes to the side and landed on the closet. _That’s it._

“…fine. Just…don’tlookinmycloset,” he mumbled. ~~~~

“Why? Is the defendant’s closet in possession of incriminating evidence?” he smirked.

 “You…don’t want to open it,” he answered truthfully.

“Uh huh. Forgive me for not taking your word,” he said, pushing Steve to the side and grabbing the handle.

“Wait no Bucky that’s a bad—!”

The protest was interrupted by the crashing of a dozen moving boxes tipping out of the closet all over Bucky and scattering across the floor.

“-idea. Well,” he said after an awkward pause where Bucky and Steve had stood there in a pile of cardboard, “you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The silence stretched on. Just as Steve was starting to worry that his boxes had given Bucky a concussion, the man in question turned around and stared at Steve.

“You…little shit,” he said, a smile growing on his face, “You planned that whole thing, didn’t you?”

Instead of letting out a sigh of relief like he wanted to, he let out a burst of giggles that quickly dissolved into outright laughter.

Bucky grinned mischievously. “Oh, I will get you for this, punk!”

“Oh crap!” Steve laughed and tried to run away but Bucky tackled him before he could get far. 

“You like that, you twerp?” he said giving noogies to a still giggling Steve. “You are an evil mastermind; you know that?”

“Yup!” he grinned up at his friend “and as part of that evil scheme, you’re picking up all the boxes.”

“What?!” Bucky squawked and pulled Steve up to not face level, but closer.

“You are the one who opened the door, after all,” he continued conversationally, “After being explicitly told not to, might I add.” He clucked his tongue. “You’re kind of a mess, Buck.”

“Oh, _I’m_ a mess? That’s funny, because I’m not the one drenched in paint.”

“What? I’m not drenched in…don’t you dare.”

Bucky grabbed Steve from the back of his shirt one-handed and dragged him to the living room. “Don’t I dare what?” he asked innocently. “I’m just helping my new pal here with his painting,” he continued, scooping up the still open tin on the floor with his left hand.

“Now, Bucky…” Steve put up his own hands, half in a placating gesture and half in defense.

“Yes, Steve?” He smiled pleasantly down at the man, red paint glistening menacingly.

“Y-you’re not _actually_ going to douse me in paint, are you?”

“Of course not.”

Steve lowered his arms. “Really?”

“Nah.” Bucky released his grip from the back of Steve’s shirt, then straightened it out and ruffled the blonde’s hair.

“Oh…that’s a relief.”

“I will dye your hair, however,” Bucky continued.

“Wait nononono-”

**splat**

“Pfft! Ahahahahaha!” Bucky burst out laughing.

Steve scraped away some of the paint dripping into his face “Oh it is _on,_ drummer boy!”

 

oooOOOooo

 

Half an hour later found the two men collapsed on the, thankfully plastic-covered, floor, splattered with a rainbow of paint, wheezing from laughter and exhaustion.

Wheezing a little too hard, actually. Steve pulled a device out of his pocket and breathed in a puff.

“An inhaler,” Bucky said. “Of course. I accused the asthmatic kid of playing a wind instrument.”

Steve snickered.

“Shut up.”

Truthfully, that was the first time Steve had needed to use the inhaler for a while. He’d mostly grown out of his asthma and now only needed it occasionally. But Bucky didn’t need to know that.

“Where are some clothes I can borrow?”

Steve turned his head and stared. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, Bucky, but our clothing sizes are a little different.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “Besides, your apartment is literally one floor up. Just go grab your own clothes.”

“I can’t let my tenants see me like this! I have a reputation to maintain!”

Steve gave him a blank look.

“I’m the brooding loner guy!”

Steve stared.

“I’m very intimidating!”

He blinked.

“... okay, fine. You win. I just don’t want to walk up a flight of stairs right now.”

Steve smirked “Now laziness, I’ll believe. Try under my bed. I accidentally ordered the wrong size shirt online the other day and haven’t been able to return it yet.”

“So logically, it goes under the bed,” Bucky said then smirked at Steve’s surprised look. “What? You’re not the only one who can be a sarcastic little shit.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I don’t question _your_ organizational choices. Are you going to steal my clothes or not?”

“Alright, alright,” he held up his hands in surrender and stood up. “And for the record, if I grew out my hair a bit I’d be much more frightening.”

Steve waited until Bucky was about to step over the pile of boxes before replying “Whatever you say, dollface!”

Bucky tripped and fell face-first into the pile. He wiggled into a sitting position, but knocked his arm into a stack next to him in the process, making the top box fall on his head. He angrily yanked it off and was about to throw it when he heard a snort.  Red-faced, he turned his head around to see Steve failing to stifle his laughter.

“Oh, shut up,” he said and chucked the box at Steve. It landed four feet to the left of his target, making Steve let out a loud guffaw of laughter before smacking his hands back over his smiling face.

Scraping up his remaining dignity, Bucky stood up and spinned around, carefully picking his way across the remaining boxes. “Who even says ‘dollface,’ anymore?” he muttered petulantly, walking through the bedroom doorway.

At this, Steve couldn’t hold it in anymore, and let loose long peals of laughter that could undoubtedly be heard from the bedroom. Eventually he managed to calm down enough to take another puff of his inhaler. At this rate, he’d need to a new prescription by next week.

 “STEVE?!” Bucky’s voice interrupted his musings.

“What is it? Come up with a nickname for your scary long-haired persona?” he called back. Bucky marched out of the bedroom, shirtless, and holding a familiar black case. Steve was bit too distracted by the view to care, though. “Six-Pack Man?” He eyed his landlord’s approaching chest a little longer then looked up. “Maybe Box Lord. It’s like Melon Lord only with-”

Stopped in front of the painter still lazing on the floor, Bucky thrust the case directly into Steve’s face, forcing him to look at it properly. “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?”

_Shit._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to libertarian_firelord and my friend Em for helping me edit this random idea of mine. We certainly had fun editing it and I hope you had fun reading it.


End file.
